


But You Still Catch My Eye

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic!, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Beth is is throwing a Christmas costume party! Rio shows up because why not?
Relationships: Annie Marks/Nancy, Beth Boland/Rio, Ruby Hill/Stan Hill
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	But You Still Catch My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Emm Gee she finished a fic! Y'all, forgive this super late fic.

_ “A Christmas costume party? _ That’s not a thing.”

“Well it is now.” 

Annie throws her head back and groans dramatically before reaching across Beth’s island counter for another freshly baked sugar cookie, barely making it out unharmed by Beth’s spatula. 

“Stop that!” 

“So, walk me through this,” Annie presses, unfazed. “Why is this happening again? And how is Ben’s school involved?” 

“It’s a community unifying thing,” Beth explains before disappearing momentarily to pop another tray of star shaped cookies into the oven. “Once in a while it’s nice to guilt the private school parents into forking over a little cash.”

Annie’s brow rises.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You little scammer.” 

“This is not a scam,” Beth pointedly states. “It’s just a fun way for the parents to get to know other parents and socialize. And if we raise some money for the arts program while we’re at it, then so be it.” 

“Come on. What’s the catch?” 

“There’s no catch! Look, business has been good lately, and it’s been busy. I’ve been busy, and I just want to do something for the kids. The Arts department is really struggling. Kenny’s been really mad at me lately, and I’ve missed Jane’s last two recitals. I just--I can organize this party. I’m good at that.”

Annie smiles, a little sad for her sister, and finally says, “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” Beth nods. “It will be.”

“Yeah! You know what? I want to go as a Rudolph.”

“No.”

“What? Why!” 

“You, dressed as a reindeer, three drinks in asking people to ride you? Absolutely not.” 

“Come on!” 

“No. You can be an elf.” 

“An elf? Because I’m short? How original.” 

Beth’s reply is a chuckle as the front door opens and Ruby’s voice is heard next. 

“Hello!”

“Kitchen!” 

Strolling in and waving her arm with a flourish, Ruby announces, “We have a DJ!” 

“For free?” 

“Free, baby.”

“Nice!” 

Ruby grabs a cookie and Annie gasps, gesturing incredulously between Ruby and Beth’s non-reaction. 

“What?” 

“She gets cookies?” 

“She got a DJ. What did you contribute?”

“Oh, so now I have to dance for my meal like some Victorian orphan? Am I a joke to you?” 

“And then you wonder why you’re the Pesci,” Ruby says, happily munching on her cookie. “You should go as Elf on a Shelf.”

“Okay,” Annie grimaces. “Time to make friends outside of this vicious circle of abuse.” 

****************

The Landis estate is located just outside the city. It’s a large Victorian home that’s been preserved down to the flowers that grow in its vast garden. It allure lies in more than its successful conservation however. Unlike many preserved homes of the time, this one has been only briefly occupied by two people. It was promptly abandoned after a tragic accident soon after its construction was finalized, and it remained empty, though kept pristine thanks to a family trust that maintained a small staff of gardeners and a cleaning crew. For a while in the 90’s, it was open to the public, for tours around the gardens, weddings and other events, but the main house remained closed, until recently, when after a complete restoration of the interior that lasted a decade was completed. Much of the original furniture has been restored and it adorns the house from entryway to attic.

Beth, who is not one to let an opportunity fly by, latched onto the two parents discussing this at Kenny’s swim meet two months ago, and quickly found out that one of them is a financial advisor who oversees the fund that keeps the house running. It didn’t take much convincing to get him to agree to pull some strings for her. Of course, playing on that busy parent guilt is low, even for her, but Kenny’s art class has really helped him with his anxiety, and if the Arts program really is in as much trouble as she’s heard it is, Kenny will lose his one healthy coping mechanism and Beth will not have that. So she’s gotten herself and every parent in the county a night at the Landis house to drink and dance, and save her kid’s art class the best way she knows how: organizing. 

“Okay, well, this house is for sure haunted.” 

Beth smiles at the intricate patterns on the kitchen wall, ignoring Dean’s commentary as he stacks boxes of drinks on the floor. 

The catering team is just now making their way inside as well, filling the pantry and period refrigerator with deserts and or d'oeuvres. Everything is running smoothly and Beth is riding that high for as long as she possibly can. 

“I heard some woman offed herself in the attic,” Dean says, adding a case of beer to the stack. 

“It’s not haunted,” Beth tells him. “And please refrain from mentioning any of that to the guests. We’re trying to raise money, not scare people away.”

“Aye aye, captain!” 

Dean’s phone rings in his pocket and Beth watches him frown as he reads the text message. 

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” 

“Babysitter has an emergency and can’t watch the kids.”

“You’re kidding.” 

“No. I’ll uh, I’ll go home and hang out with them.”

“Really?” 

“Don’t look SO surprised.”

Beth gives him a look that says ‘can you blame me’. 

“You worked really hard on this,” he says. “Plus I don’t know the first thing about party planning or who is in charge of what, or in what order things are supposed to happen. You’re a lot better at the finger sandwiches and hosting and stuff than I am.” 

Beth gives him a tight-lipped smile. It always starts off so well with Dean. There’s the stirring of a compliment that he then buries under six feet of misogyny. 

“Thanks.”

She pats his arm and pretends not to notice that he was going for a hug, instead busying herself with unloading a box of napkins as he makes his way out. She shakes him off as soon as he leaves. It’s not everyday that someone convinces some millionaire phantom Trust to donate a night in a historic estate that’s been underwraps for a decade, and all for a school fundraiser. It’s an accomplishment she’s proud of, even if no one else acknowledges it as such.

“Yo!” 

Beth jumps at the sound of Annie making her boisterous entrance.

“Daaaamn, this place is sick! How many ghosts do you think we’ll encounter tonight?” 

“Please, don’t tell people this place is haunted,” Beth pleads, turning around and catching herself at the sight. 

“I don’t have to tell people, it’s like, in the air. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, my god,” Beth laughs. “What are you supposed to be?” 

Annie looks down at her outfit, then adjusts the bassinet around her head, smiling smugly. 

“I’m baby Jesus. Obviously.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Beth replies, still giggling. 

“A little sacrilege never hurt anybody.”

“Are you going to wear that now? The party’s not for another two hours.”

“Chill, it’s built for easy removal.”

Annie demonstrates just that by easily pulling the bassinet up and over her head. 

“See? Nancy thought of everything.”

“That’s still going on?”

“What do you mean? We have the kids, we’re just...friendly or whatever.” 

“Mmhmm.”

“Anyway, give me something to do, I’m not comfortable with all this attention.”

Beth rolls her eyes. 

“Why don’t you go help the DJ set up?”

Annie gives a little salute and disappears through the open pocket door leading to the main room. 

The kitchen is filling up with the staff and so Beth grabs the bag with her own costume and moves toward the same exit in order to give them the room they need. She passes Annie in the main room, already laughing with the DJ. Decorations are mostly all up and the bar is being set up along with cocktail tables that are meant to surround the designated dancefloor. 

Beth breathes a sigh of relief at this, and then proceeds up the stairs, or starts to anyway before she spots a familiar shadow in the doorway at the other end of the ballroom. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says to herself, changing directions instantly and striding across the floor in record time. 

“What are you doing here?” She hisses. 

Rio turns slowly in her direction, taking his time in first finishing looking at whatever he’s looking at before pushing his body off the doorway, smiling at her when he greets her. 

“Hello, Elizabeth.” 

“Okay, enough with the Hannibal Lecter greeting, seriously, what are you doing here? We don’t have a drop, we don’t have new inventory coming in, deliveries were made early -- I made sure nothing would come up today. So, what are you doing here?” 

He smiles wider. 

“I’m impressed! You’ve really got that multitasking thing down, huh?” 

“What do you want?” 

He really can be infuriating sometimes. 

“Just here for the party,” he shrugs. 

“What? No--”

“I’m a parent. I was invited.”

“Rhea was supposed to--”

“Yeah, she’s not coming. She caught a cold or the flu from Marcus or something.” 

Beth glares at him. 

“Well, the party doesn’t start for a while.”

“Wanted to help out,” he says, his eyes dropping to her chest, and damn it, she does not need her body to betray her right now, but she’s feeling the effects of it anyway. 

“We’re good,” she manages. “You can come back later.” 

“Nah, I think I’ll hang out. Make sure you’re not scheming.”

“I’m not--why does everybody keep saying that?” 

He chuckles. 

“They must know you well.” 

She inhales sharply through her nose and adjusts her bag over her shoulder. 

“This is a  costume party, so.”

“I have a costume.” 

She stares him down, but he’s not budging, so she sighs. 

“Fine,” she concedes. “Just please don’t--do what you do. Okay? You can go back to torturing me tomorrow, just -- not tonight.” 

He shrugs and holds his hands up. 

“You’re the boss. Hey, did you know some woman killed herself in the attic of this place? It was the architect’s wife. Lost a baby and had a psychotic break.”

“That’s,” she starts with the intention of snapping at him, but she stops. “That’s actually incredibly sad.”

“Yeah. It’s one of the better preserved historic homes in the country, too. They almost tore it down fifty years ago.”

“How do you know that?” She asks, suddenly annoyed.

“I like Architecture,” he shrugs.

She flails, and eventually rolls her eyes, dropping it. 

“I have to go get ready.”

“‘Ey, what’s your costume?” 

She hears him chuckle behind her when she ignores him–she can practically feel his eyes on her ass as she climbs the stairs. 

  
  


*************

  
  


They’ve let her use a bedroom. One with a bed not made in Victorian times. The family the home was originally built for never actually got to move in after the tragic accident in the attic, and so, some of the bedrooms were never furnished. It was cheaper to have replicas made during the renovation than to hunt for original pieces, and so that’s where Beth is set up for the evening. 

It’s a gorgeous room, authentic or not. There’s a huge white bed with intricate floral carvings and gold leaf accents. There’s a dresser, a wardrobe, and a vanity, all made to match, and in the attached bathroom suite, a massive clawfoot tub that sits against a sea foam green wall. Beth smiles to herself at that, realising she might get some R & R and she wasn’t even planning for it. 

There’s a moment of hesitation, of checking the time, and then finally of deciding she can take an extra twenty minutes for a bath. 

The second she sinks into the foamy water, she decides it’s completely worth it. It’s quiet here, save for the occasional shift of water that echoes softly. Dean would be up here with her, had he stayed, and for a moment she feels guilt for feeling relief, but it’s gone soon enough and makes the active decision to just enjoy her bath. There are the remnants of thoughts about her marriage in the back of her mind, about divorce and separation, and how freeing that would be. It takes her by surprise that she’s even allowed herself to feel good about those feelings and she smiles as she sinks a little lower into the water and thinks, two more nights in this place and she might actually file for divorce. 

Her phone rings thirty minutes later, just as she’s preparing to come downstairs. It’s Ruby. 

“Did you know homeboy is here?” 

“Well, hello to you too.” 

“Beth!” She whisper-screeches into the phone. “Why is he here?” 

“I don’t know! He’s not here for work, I can tell you that. His kid’s school is in on this, I can’t control who they send invites to.”

“Beth,” Ruby says, and there’s a loaded pause before, “Why is he here?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Are you two running some scheme you haven’t told me about? Because Stan is here, Beth! We’re just getting back on track--”

“I wish everybody would stop assuming I’ve got some hidden agenda--look, I didn’t invite him. He’s promised to behave, beyond that...I really don’t know what to tell you.” 

“Fine,” Ruby sighs. “Where are you?” 

“I was about to come down. I’ll see you in a minute.” 

“Okay. You know he’s here exclusively for you, right?” 

“Bye, Ruby.” 

Beth hangs up the phone and secures her halo atop her head, makes sure her wings are where they’re supposed to be, and then takes a deep breath before heading for the door--there’s a sound behind her, like the bathroom door being pushed open, but she dismisses it as a casualty of being in a really old house, and leaves. 

  
  


***************

She doesn’t see him when she comes downstairs, and it’s not like she’s looking for him. Because she’s not. She’s just making sure there aren’t any Rio-related fires to put out. 

There’s a decent crowd by 7. Decent enough that it takes her a minute to run into anyone she knows. 

“Beth!” 

Nancy finds her first. She’s dressed in what Beth can only assume is some Mary costume, and do people only associate Christmas with biblical things?

“Oh, my god, you look amazing!” 

“Thank you!” Beth says, wondering if the angel getup is a little too much, worrying about her neckline. “I’m scared this is too revealing.”

“No, it’s perfect! You look fantastic.” 

Beth laughs–Nancy has never been this laid back in her life, as long as Beth has known her. She must have found the bar. 

“Is Greg here?” 

Nancy makes a sour face that Beth has never seen her make.

“No,” she declares. “He’s watching the kids. It’s a girls night. Oh!” 

She fishes Annie out from somewhere and pulls her into the conversation, motioning between them.

“See? We coordinated!” 

“Yeah,” Beth nods, eyes wide. “She’s your--she’s your baby!” 

Nance laughs, “Yeah! Funny, right?” 

Beth tries not to make a big deal about the fact that they’re holding hands, or the fact that Annie isn’t even fazed by it, instead bobbing her head along with the music as she sips her drink and takes in Beth’s costume. 

“What are you supposed to be? Ghost of Christmas past or something?” 

“No, I--I’m a tree topper.” 

Beth poses, points at her layers and layers of white and gold that make up her dress, much to Annie’s confusion.

“Come on!” 

“What Christmas movie is that from?” 

“It’s not--” Beth stops and looks around at the guests; Kevin Mcallister, Ralphie, three guys standing around together as, she guesses, the guys from that Seth Rogen movie. “Do people think this is a Christmas  _ movie _ costume party?” 

“Well...isn’t it?” 

“No!” 

Beth holds the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. 

“No, it’s--it’s just a Christmas costume party. Christmas! Tree toppers, Santa Claus, Elf on a shelf!”

“I saw a Bad Santa over there,” Annie suggests. 

“Yeah,” Nancy adds, “And there’s Buddy the Elf over by the bar.”

“Oh my god,” Beth laments. “This is a disaster.” 

“No, it’s not! People are having fun!”

And, well, Beth guesses they are. She frowns at the man in the John McClane costume and gestures with her hand. 

“What is that supposed to be?” 

“Die Hard is a Christmas movie, dude,” Annie tells her, serious as she’s ever been. 

Beth sighs, “I can’t,” and turns to leave in search of a drink. 

She finds one at the bar, and another, because she really needs to calm down and let people enjoy themselves. By her third shot of whiskey, she’s relaxed, and leaning casually against the bar, watching Jack Skellington and Sally get down on the dance floor to “Rock the Casbah”, which is when Ruby and Stan approach her, dressed as a pair of Christmas trees, spheres and all. 

Beth gasps, clutching her chest. 

“You’re actually dressed in Christmas themed costumes.”

“Yeah, well,” Ruby replies, surveying the crowd, “we can follow directions.” 

“My heroes,” Beth giggles, pulling them both in for a hug. 

Ruby laughs and Stan seems uneasy. He’s not quite there with her yet, and that’s understandable, so she pretends not to notice. 

“How you doing, babe?” Ruby asks, a little suspicious. 

“Fine,” Beth says, waving her off. “I’m just letting things evolve. Have you checked the fundraiser venmo? The more alcohol they consume, the more money they want to get rid of.” 

“That’s great!” 

“Yeah,” Beth nods. “Now if we can only get through the night without a ghost encounter, we’re golden.” 

There’s an audible collective gasp following the sudden loss of light and sound. 

“Famous last words,” says Stan.

Beth groans, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

“It’s an old house,” Stan tells her. “I’ll go find a fuse box.” 

“Thank you.”

“It’ll be fine!” Ruby assures her, following Stan through the crowd. 

Beth doesn’t see the look of utter worry on Ruby’s face as she leaves, instead, she jumps right into hostess mode. 

“Hi! Excuse me everybody! Please just hang tight! We’re working on getting the power back up! I’m sure it’s just the ghosts, right?” She laughs, gets a couple of chuckles. “At least the bar’s full!” 

That gets her a more exuberant response and she heads toward the kitchen for candles and flashlights. 

“You,” she flags down the first server she runs into. “Go through every storage room you can get into, any door that isn’t locked in this house and find flashlights, candles, anything, go.” 

In the kitchen, she directs the crew to serve whatever’s refrigerated that can go bad and once she’s done that, she starts going through kitchen cabinets, drawers, and finds a pack of candles. 

“Okay, now we’re cooking with gas,” she says to herself, continuing her search under the sink. “Come on, matches, matches matches--no matches.” 

She sighs, “Damn it.”

She stands up, drops the candles on the nearest counter and speaks loud enough for the remaining servers in the room to hear. 

“I smelled pot earlier, who here has matches or a lighter?” 

There’s silence, some guilty-looking silent exchanges, which makes Beth roll her eyes. 

“No one has a lighter or matches?” She lets out a long sigh and closes her eyes. “I’m going to keep my eyes closed for five seconds, which is a very generous amount of time, and when I open them, there’d better be a goddamn lighter on that counter, I swear to god.” 

She waits through faint shuffling and hushed voices, and then she tries to keep her reaction minimal when she opens her eyes to a good six or seven lighters, and one joint, on the counter. She collects them quickly, avoiding the joint for a moment, before thinking better of it. 

“Thanks for this. I’ll be keeping the weed. You shouldn’t be smoking on the job, guys, come on.” 

It’s an odd feeling, stepping into a room that was only moments ago filled with music. There’s animated chatter, the sound of glasses clinking and, to Beth’s surprise, the passing around of candles and people huddling in small groups to light them. 

“Hey!” Annie comes up to her, big smile on her face, “This is kinda cool, no? I’ve always wanted to spend a night in a haunted house.”

“Stop saying that!” Beth hisses. 

Annie rolls her eyes. 

“You’re so uncool. People like this stuff. You’re so boring you stumbled into a good time. Give me those, I’ll pass them out.” 

“Thanks.” 

Walking off with an armful of candlesticks and lighters, Annie looks over her shoulder and giddily suggests, “We should have a seance!” 

Beth sighs, resigned to the off-season Halloween party she didn’t sign up for.

People begin to break away from the dance room eventually, some in groups, others in pairs, giggling and holding onto each other as they creep around hallways and rooms, some with their phones on with the house’s wikipedia page up. Beth can hear someone reading it aloud as she makes her way back to the bar.

In the distance, she sees Annie and Nancy hunched over some piece of paper, giggling before they scurry off and Beth can’t help but laugh to herself as she shakes her head. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, but at least they seem happy. 

A drink sounds right, Beth thinks, and she turns toward the bartender, in time to be interrupted by a man in a very elaborate Krampus costume. She’s startled at first, can’t quite see his face through the material, but his voice is kind, so she relaxes. 

“Excuse me, you’re Beth Boland, right?”

“Yes?”

“My phone died, and,” he gestures vaguely with his claws. “No power. Will you take a check?” 

“Oh--sure, yeah.” 

He opens what Beth could only describe as a claw, producing a check for five thousand dollars, and Beth’s eyes widen. 

“Oh my god, that’s very generous of you, thank you.” 

Krampus shrugs and says, “Great party,” before turning away and stalking off to meet his group. 

“People have been dropping off checks with me,” the bartender says and Beth turns to face him. He’s holding a tissue box. “Been putting them in here.” 

“Hold this one for me,” Beth says and reaches across to slide the check into the box. “And can I get bourbon on the rocks, please? Thanks.”

“What is it about an old creepy house that turns full-grown adults into teenagers?” 

Beth braces herself at the sound of his voice, mentally prepares herself for whatever psychological torture he’s going to inflict upon her before turning around to find him leaning against the bar in a black suit like he’s Humphrey fucking Bogart, and she just wants to kick him. 

“I thought you brought a costume,” she says as he approaches her. 

“I did,” he responds. “I’m Bill Murray in Scrooged.” 

“Is everyone in on the same bad joke? I clearly said ‘Christmas themed’ not ‘Christmas Movie themed’” 

“Christmas themed costume parties aren’t a thing. Ugly Christmas sweater parties are a thing. You should have done that.” 

“Pardon me for having a little faith in the imagination of four PTA’s,” she scoffs, and then thanks the bartender when he slides her drink in front of her. 

“You look nice,” Rio observes, and she expects there to be some lewd addition, and there is the usual loaded look he gives her, but in the end, there’s just a compliment. 

Beth doesn’t know why, but it throws her off some, makes her suddenly speechless and all she can do is mumble a quick “Thanks” before giving her drink her full attention.

He stops looking at her eventually, Beth feels him move on after a moment to ask the bartender for a bourbon, and then he’s leaning casually again, watching the candlelit circus the dance has turned into.

They drink in a silence for a beat before Rio casually asks, “You believe in ghosts?” 

Beth starts to say no, but she stops herself, thinking better of it. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. Leaning more towards no.” 

Rio exhales a laugh, shaking his head a little whilst holding his drink up to his lips but not taking a sip for a while. 

“What?” Beth asks. “What’s that laugh?” 

“Nah, just figures that you would think that.”

“Why? Too practical?”

“Cynical,” he asserts. “Smug.” 

“I am not smug!” 

“We exist on a floating rock, Elizabeth. There are things out there our brains can’t even comprehend. We’ve explored like five percent of the entire ocean. You don’t think there’s something otherworldly about the vastness of the ocean? About the unexplored galaxies?”

“Yeah, but that’s literally science,” Beth says. “That doesn’t explain ghosts.” 

“I don’t need Science to explain ghosts.”

“What? You’ve seen ghosts?” 

“Maybe,” Rio shrugs.

Beth’s eyes narrow at him. Somehow, she’s not sure she trusts this sudden admission. 

“You’re fucking with me,” she says with an eyeroll. 

He just chuckles beside her, he’s somehow standing closer now, but she’s still not sure if he’s lying. 

After a few moments of enjoying their drinks, Beth speaks again. 

“When Jane was a baby, I was sure she could see ghosts. She wasn’t a finicky kid, ever. She rarely cried, but I’d often hear her laughing--you know, through the baby monitor.

Rio nods, invested. 

“Even while she was teething, it was like she was uncomfortable, but something was distracting her from the pain. I don’t know.

She shrugs.

“Maybe it was just postpartum hope that someone was helping out.” 

Rio stares at her for a while, and for a moment Beth fears she might see pity in his eyes, but instead, he asks the bartender for the bottle of bourbon and refills their drinks himself. 

“Kids got a lot going on. Walking, teething, learning to communicate and shit. They probably see ghosts too. There’s a reason we can’t remember shit from when we were babies.”

“Hmm,” she nods, takes another sip as a small group of parents gather around one’s phone to dance to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”. 

“You want to go see the attic?” Rio asks suddenly. 

Beth regards him suspiciously, “Why? So you can scare the shit out of me up there?”

“You scare easily?” 

“No,” she states curtly, rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin as she turns fully to face him. “Let’s go.” 

Walking through the halls of the beautifully preserved estate feels an awful lot like a high school house party with the power out, and Beth feels a momentary flash of concern for the house. She promised the owners a responsible adult fundraiser--she signed paperwork guaranteeing that, and yet, as they pass people sitting with their drinks on the stairs, in their ridiculous costumes, she can’t help but feel a little proud of her failure tonight. She’s somehow managed to make lawyers, teachers, stay-at-home parents, and a handful of doctors forget about decorum and expectations for a little while, and maybe that’s not a failure on her record after all. 

Upon reaching the landing that leads to the attic, they nearly run into Annie and Nancy, who are coming from around the corner in the opposite direction. 

Annie laughs at first, but then smiles at Beth in a completely different way upon seeing her companion. 

“You guys going to the attic to make out, or?” 

“It’s locked,” Nany pouts. 

Beth glares at Annie, who is already being dragged by Nancy toward the stairs. 

“Dibs on the cellar!” she yells over her shoulder, and then, thankfully, she’s gone. 

“I didn’t know your sister was gay,” Rio notes, reaching in his back pocket for something Beth can’t see as he resumes walking toward the attic door. 

“I didn’t either,” Beth replies, rolling her eyes before following him. “What are you doing? She said it’s locked.” 

“You know,” he starts, fidgeting with the knob, “you’re gonna have to learn a few things if you’re gonna be a crime boss. Like...learning how to open doors without a key.” 

There’s a click before he pushes the door open, sending it swinging back slowly with an eerie creak. 

“Ladies first,” he motions with his hand and she rolls her eyes breezing past him, first searching the wall for a light switch before recalling there’s no power and pulling up the flashlight on her phone to light the way up the stairway that’s been revealed. 

This staircase is different from the rest of the house. It’s dusty, for one, with more than a few spider webs, and it hasn’t been treated with the same care as other rooms. There are wrapped frames leaning against the wall as they go.

Beth gasps when Rio grabs her by the waist and pulls her against him suddenly. 

“Watch out,” he rasps, and then glances down. 

There’s a big gaping hole in the next step up that would have surely sent Beth to urgent care and she turns her head to say just that, except she’s pressed flush against his chest and when she’s this close to him, it’s too familiar, too intimate–they’ve had too much to drink for this. Even with her wings crushed between their bodies, she can feel his body heat. 

“Thanks,” she manages to say before stepping over the broken step and out of his arms. 

She’s far too conscious of the fact that he lingers back a beat before resuming the climb, and she reaches the top of the stairs moments before he does. A spider web hangs from her halo and she pulls it off her head, then shrugs off her wings when she spots a few others hanging from the tips, dropping everything on the floor to quickly step away from it. 

“It’s so gross up here,” she says when Rio finally appears. 

He laughs softly as she continues to brush invisible things off her arms, shuffling the skirt of her dress out, just in case.

“It’s not funny.” 

She hears him open the bottle he brought with him, and then hears the bourbon slosh around as he tips the bottle back for a hearty swing. The bottle then appears in her face. 

“Here. Chill out.” 

“Don’t tell me to chill out,” she scolds, snatching the bottle from his grip, ignoring the way his index finger crazes her inner wrist, and takes a swig of her own, and another as she watches him wander around the room. 

There’s old furniture, some broken, some covered with sheets. There’s moonlight coming in through the windows, of which there are many, but it doesn’t make the room feel any less ominous.

Rio says something Beth doesn’t quite hear, and so she meets him where he’s rummaging through sheet music and old records stacked upon an old piano with some missing keys. 

“I think this stuff belonged to the first people who lived here--well, they never officially lived here.”

“The architect?”

“Yeah,” he nods, pulling out a small frame from underneath the piano. It’s a small portrait of a young couple–somber, like most Victorian portraits are.

“Oh, it’s their wedding portrait,” Beth notes softly. 

It makes her think about her own wedding, looking at this couple. It makes her think about how she felt about Dean once upon a time, how she wanted to trust him to take care of things so badly she chose not to trust her instincts about him. 

“They were so young,” she adds. “You never think anything bad will ever happen to you when you’re that young. It’s sad.” 

After another moment, she turns away, unable to stare at the doomed pair any longer, and drinks some more. Pacing around until she finds herself staring out the window. A few guests have trickled out, some into the garden, others into the stables. 

“Did you feel that way when you got married?” He asks. “Did you think nothing bad was going to happen to you?” 

Beth doesn’t respond, just lets the question hang in the air while she observes her guests getting whisked away by the night, and while Rio continues to look around the forgotten items. 

“We did,” He adds after a moment, “me and Rhea. You want to think your differences won’t matter. That you can work them out, but sometimes, you’re just different people. If you’re lucky, you can work your shit out enough to raise your kids together, even if the marriage doesn’t work out.

He slips behind the piano, pulls up a larger frame to look at and then sets it back down.

“But y’know, there’s always that thing in the back of your head telling you you should have ended it sooner. You could have always done something sooner, you’re always coming up with shit you could have done, people you could have met.”

“Is that directed at me?” She asks, finally meeting his eyes, aided by a sliver of light he steps into when he comes back around the piano. 

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Just talkin’.” 

When they’re face to face, he reaches between them to pull the bottle from her hand and there’s a smile when he says, “Not everything is about you. Believe it or not.”

She watches his throat as he swallows, leaning back against the table by the window. 

“So what things did you think you missed out on being with Rhea? What people?” 

“I stopped thinking that way a long time ago,” he answers, handing back the bottle and watching her drink as he adds, “I figure things are supposed to happen when they happen. People come into your life when you’re ready for ‘em.”

Beth bites her cheek, lets the moment hang there between them, allows it to expand and engulf them until the words stumble out of her mouth. 

“Why are you here?”

“Same reason you are,” he answers quickly. 

“Which is?”

“Here for the kids.”

He drinks some more, stepping a little closer, backing her further into the table until they’re just barely touching. 

“That’s it?” She asks, emboldened enough by the hearty amount of alcohol in her system to not shy away when he blatantly looks down her dress. 

“That’s it,” he gruffs, and then places the bottle somewhere on the table. 

Beth can smell his aftershave, or his cologne, whatever it is, mixed with the smell of bourbon, and suddenly, all she can think about is what it must taste like off his tongue. He’s close enough that she could find out if she just leaned in an inch or so, she can sense him thinking the same–she feels him begin to gather her skirt, grabbing the layers upon layers of tulle and cotton until she’s helping him with it, having scoot up to sit on the table. 

He doesn’t kiss her after he pulls her underwear off, or even when he teases a finger inside her. He just--watches her face, recording the way her brow creases when he slides the digit to the hilt, how her lips part in a soft gasp when he thumbs her clit, circling it slowly, his own mouth falling open as he watches the color rise up her neck. 

Beth’s hands fumble with his belt before he takes over, slipping out from inside her to undo his pants as she pulls her dress up the rest of the way, meeting him in a heated kiss the moment he slips inside her and they both groan as he fills her. 

It’s been a while. She can’t say how long exactly, but it’s been a while since the last time they did this, and she’s not surprised how good it still is. 

He cradles the back of her neck with one hand while gripping her thigh with the other, his hips pumping in time hers as he swallows her keening moans when lifts her leg high on his hip. The table is pushed against the wall and the bottle they’d been passing back and forth rolls off and breaks at their feet. Beth would feel badly about that if Rio’s mouth hadn’t just slipped down the side of her neck to bite her there as he drags his hand up her nape to tug lightly at her hair. If it weren’t just so good, she’d feel bad about the broken glass, and the smell of alcohol now filling the room. 

His breath is hot on her neck, her ear, right before nips at her lobe, and finally bites down on her shoulder in earnest, making her cry out and jut her hips harder. Beth grips Rio’s sides, her hands slipping under his jacket and around his waist, clinging to him as her release approaches, the pleasure coiling within her before inevitably snapping and sending ripples throughout her entire body. Time appears to stop then, as her body rides the waves of pleasure that come from her orgasm and moments later the aftershocks that accompany his own.

Drunk sex really is the best sex, Beth decides as Rio nuzzles her neck, his hips jerking a little when she clenches around him. 

His lips find hers and they kiss slowly, leisurely right up until he slips out of her and he’s looking at her strangely. She’s about to ask him about it, when it dawns on her that they didn’t use a condom, and then horrible memories of her false pregnancy come back and she rolls her eyes. 

“It’s called the morning after pill, relax,” she says before hopping off the table. 

“You need me to go with you?” He asks.

“Shut up,” Beth laughs, swatting his shoulder just as a shadow in the corner catches her eye. 

It’s a tall shadow, not quite a formed shape, not quite a person, but close enough. She gasps when it moves, her blood running cold. 

“What is that?” 

“What?” 

Rio turns around, but there’s a loud bang, the sound of something following at the opposite end of the room and they both jump, turning in that direction, only to be startled again, this time by the sudden return of power which immediately lights the house and in effect the very room they’re standing in. 

There’s nothing where the shadow was, nothing where the sound came from, just old dusty furniture and a broken bottle of bourbon on the floor. 

“Ghosts?” Rio suggests when Beth looks at him. 

She rolls her eyes and walks past him, ignoring the way her heart is still beating far too fast. 

“I’ll go get a broom.” 

“Elizabeth.”

She turns at the stairs. 

“Yeah?” 

“You can call it quits whenever. There’s no expiration date or anything. You don’t have to suck it up.” 

She holds his gaze as her lips part to reply, to tell him to mind his business, or to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t know her. But they’re past that point now. So, she offers him a smile instead, and a nod before motioning toward the stairs. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

She’s surprised to catch Annie switching the lights off in the main room, and then not so much when people appear to relax once it’s dark again. There’s something about the dark, Beth thinks once she’s found a broom to bring upstairs, it gives people permission to be a little bit more free than they normally allow themselves to be. Maybe she’ll carry her own permission to freedom out with her tonight. 

  
  



End file.
